


Death Comes to Avonlea

by rebgurl15



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-03-09 12:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18916708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebgurl15/pseuds/rebgurl15
Summary: When someone near and dear to her heart is murdered, Anne teams up with Gilbert to solve the crime and protect Avonlea. Will they solve the crime? Will they learn to more than tolerate each other?





	1. Chapter 1

They found Matthew quite by accident. Gilbert and Anne were in the woods, walking home from school. Conversation and happenstance had converged to make it so they walked together. They chatted amiably about impending college entrance exams, weather, and harvest schedules. Their rivalry, while omnipresent in theory, had cooled to a pleasant tension between the two as they entered their last year of school. They had almost reached the turn-off for Green Gables when that metallic smell filled the air. 

"Do you smell that?" Gilbert looked from tree to tree, searching for the source. 

Anne did not reply. She had frozen on the path, eyes affixed to something just beyond the path that Gilbert could not see. Her face had drained of color, her freckles all the more prominent on her suddenly ghostly complexion.

"Anne? What is it?" Gilbert's eyes strained in the fading autumn light to see what had transfixed the typically effervescent redhead. He could just make out something slumped against a tree in a clearing about fifty meters from the path on which they stood. 

"Is that a person?" Gilbert asked, though he already knew the answer. 

Without responding, Anne began moving towards the form, haltingly at first, but she was soon sprinting, quickly covering the distance. Though Gilbert wanted to go anywhere but toward the person in the woods, as soon as he saw that redhead streak past him, he found himself running as well. The metallic smell got stronger as they neared the clearing. The smell reminded Gilbert of when he had helped his father deliver a calf last Spring. 

Blood. It's blood. Gilbert's heart dropped at the thought. 

The person -- a man, based on the size -- was in a small clearing ringed by tall oaks. He was propped against a tree that time and competition for sunlight had warped. About three feet up, the tree took a sharp right, creating a natural bench of sorts. The man's head lulled against this, grey hair falling over the face. The man's shirt was the rust red of blood. It had been white once, but no more. The dead leaves around the man were wet and dark. 

"Anne! Don't!" He watched in horror as Anne dropped to her knees by the body. 

Gently, her thin fingers smoothed the grey hair away from the body's face. 

"Matthew." Recognition dawned as Anne spoke. 

The older man's face, lined with year of cares, was devoid of color except for the brilliant purple bruise blooming on the his left cheek. With his eyes closed and face relaxed, Matthew looked as if he were simply sleeping -- though the volume of blood in the clearing told Gilbert that this could not be the case. 

Gilbert knelt beside Anne. Anne brought a finger to Matthew's bruised cheek. "Matthew." She repeated, her voice only slightly above a whisper. She didn't seem to be able to bring herself to touch him, her finger hovering millimeters from Matthew's skin. Gilbert, meanwhile, brought two fingers to Matthew's neck where he knew the carotid artery was housed. The rhythmic beating indicative of life was distinctly absent. 

"No heartbeat." Gilbert croaked, surprised at how foreign his own voice sounded in this silent clearing. Anne did nothing that indicated that she had heard him. She sat stock still, her eyes never leaving Matthew's face.

"We need help." Gilbert continued. His mind was racing. What should they do? Clearly something horrible had happened here. Neither of them were equipped to handle this. Though, was anyone really equipped to handle occurrences such as these? "We could get my father. My house is but ten minutes from here." 

"I will not leave him." Anne's whisper was quiet steel.

"And I will not leave you." Gilbert replied simply.


	2. Chapter 2

John Blythe was a man of routine. He was a man of consistency. Up before dawn, coffee at five. An apple, a slice of bread, and two hard boiled eggs for lunch. Supper at half past five. Ever since he had taken over the Blythe farm twenty years before, his days had been predictable -- and he had thrived. After all, without guarantees such as winter rains and summer sun, there would be no autumn harvest. 

And what a harvest it will be, John reflected with satisfaction as he waited on his porch for his decidedly unpredictable son to return home for supper. He glanced at his pocket watch -- late, of course -- it was nearly six o'clock. He was about to head back inside to have his supper Gilbert or no Gilbert when a strange figure emerging from the woods caught his eye. It looked like a man but warped somehow -- bigger, broader, taller than any man he knew. He also noted a smaller figure ambling along beside it. 

As the giant neared him, moving slowly, with a halting gait, John realized that it was not a single, over-sized man, but two men, with one carrying the other upon his back. 

"Help!" The figure called out. "Please Father!"

"Gilbert?" John was off the porch in an instant, running towards what was, at least in part, his son. When he reached Gilbert, John came to understand many things all at once. Anne Shirley Cuthbert, pale and shell-shocked, was clearly the smaller figure that he had seen. His son, carrying none other than Matthew Cuthbert on his back, was the unwieldy giant. Unfortunately, he also came to understand that Matthew Cuthbert was dead. 

So much for predictability.

\-----------

Things happened quickly after that. The pastor was summoned, as was the local constabulary, the doctor, and Rachel Lynde. Well, Rachel was not so much summoned as "happened by." However, once she was there, Rachel made herself indispensable, taking charge of the nearly catatonic Anne Shirley Cuthbert. Gilbert disappeared at one point with the constables to show them where Matthew had been found, but he soon found his way back to Anne's side. 

Constables zoomed in and out of the Blythe's kitchen. Neighbors dropped by to see what was happening. The doctor recruited the Blythe's farm hands to transport the body to his office. Rachel commandeered the stove to provide everyone with a strong cup of coffee. In all of this, Anne remained silent and unmoving on the chair near the fire that Gilbert had guided her to upon their arrival at the farmhouse hours earlier. It wasn't until around nine -- when the constables took their leave and the kitchen quieted -- that Anne began to come back to herself.

"Where is Marilla?" she croaked. Beside her, Rachel and Gilbert exchanged looks of surprise. How had they forgotten Marilla?

"At Green Gables, I imagine." Gilbert answered, his cheeks growing pink with embarrassment. How could he have been so daft?

"Oh Gilbert, she does not know, does she?" Anne's voice was quiet and inquisitive, though Gilbert was sure she already knew the answer.

"I imagine she does not." Gilbert responded slowly, feeling every bit the fool. "Anne, I am so sorry!"

"Oh my!" Rachel looked every bit as embarrassed as Gilbert. She was, after all, not only the chief purveyor of Avonlea news, but also Marilla's best friend. "Well there's nothing to be done about it but go and tell her." Her words were no nonsense, but it was clear from her face that she did not relish the prospect.

"She will be utterly destroyed." Anne's eyes were large with unshed tears. In them Gilbert could see her unspoken words -- "As I am." Hesitantly he reached out and put his arm around her shoulder. For a moment, Anne stiffened and Gilbert was sure that she was going to pull away. But then she crumpled, sagging against him. Gilbert pulled Anne closer then and held her as the weight of her loss overwhelmed her.

Rachel watched all of this silently, grief and compassion overpowering any judgement she might otherwise have felt. 


	3. Chapter 3

Marilla had known something was wrong hours before Anne, Gilbert, and Rachel burst into her kitchen at half past nine. Supper had been set for six and when both Anne and Matthew had failed to appear, she began to worry. She waited at the table for an hour, watching as the steam dissipated from her chicken stew and fresh baked bread. At eight she grabbed a lantern and marched over to Rachel's house -- only to find the handsome home dark and deserted. At a quarter till nine, she was back in her kitchen, sleeves up, flour out, ready to bake her worries away. However, no matter how much she measured, mixed, and kneaded, she could not rid herself of the dread that seemed to pool in her stomach. So, even as her kitchen door was crashing open, Marilla was bracing herself for the worst. 

"Marilla I am so sorry!" Rachel was speaking even before she had fully crossed the threshold. 

"Good Heavens Rachel! What ever is the matter?" Though Marilla's heart was in her throat, her voice was still forceful.

"Marilla, it would be best if you sat down." Rachel said gently. She now stood by the scrubbed oak table that dominated Green Gable's small kitchen. She seemed to be pointedly ignoring the catastrophic mess that Marilla's panicked baking had created. Anne and Gilbert had quietly followed Rachel in, both looking pale and quite unlike themselves. Marilla relaxed a little at the sight of Anne -- at least she had not lost her Anne. 

"I would prefer to stand, if it's all the same to you." Marilla could hear the tremor in her own voice, even as she sought to keep her statements strong and direct. "Really Rachel. What is this all about?"

"Well..." Rachel seemed to struggle to find the right words. "Marilla I am so sorry but it's Matthew."

"Yes, what about him?" Marilla's heart pounded in her ears and her stomach clenched. Her vision became ringed in darkness, as though she was going through a long, dark tunnel. She already knew what Rachel was about to say, but she had to hear it for herself.

"He's...Matthew is dead."

And then Marilla was falling into blackness. 

\------------

It was Anne who caught Marilla before she hit the floor, lunging forward to support the older woman that she loved so dearly. It was Gilbert who got Marilla up the stairs and into bed, carrying the tall, thin woman in his arms. And it was Rachel who climbed the stairs armed with water, bread, smelling salts, and tea, making sure that her bosom friend was, at least physically, alright. 

By the time Marilla was situated in her room, it was half past ten. The night was dark and moonless, intimidating given recent events. The unlikely trio sat in the kitchen for a long time, staring out the window into that inky darkness. Neither Rachel nor Gilbert were very much inclined to brave the night. Nor were they inclined to leave their grieving friends. 

"Will you both stay the night?" Anne inquired softly as the clock struck eleven. "We have beds enough for you both." When they did not respond, she added, "It would be a great comfort if you did." There was no way they could say no to that. 

And so Rachel was tucked into the guest bedroom across the hall from Marilla's room and Gilbert found himself in the ground floor bedroom off the kitchen. Borrowed bedclothes were donned and quiet good nights were exchanged, before they all headed to their respective rooms to reflect on their grief and shattered peace and, hopefully, to get some sleep. 


	4. Chapter 4

Sleep did not come to Anne. Her eyes burned and her body was heavy with exhaustion so, dutifully, Anne had climbed into bed and blown out her candle. However, even in the darkness and comfort of her gable room, sleep had eluded her. She lay staring into the darkness, images from the day flashing through her mind. For some reason, she fixated on Matthew's shirt. In the woods it had been red, but this morning, when she had helped Marilla iron it, the shirt had been crisp and white. The sheer volume of blood that that transformation had required turned her stomach and sent her rolling out of her bed. 

"Oh Matthew," Anne murmured as she staggered to her feet and braced herself on her dresser. Her room felt oppressive somehow, as if the walls were closing in on her, seeking to trap her in the horror of this day. She needed to get out. 

\----------

It felt to Gilbert as if he had only been sleeping for a minute when the squeaking of the stairs outside his borrowed room jolted him awake. In a moment he was out of bed, padding quickly to his door. His heart was racing, his palms were sweating. Even as he was turning the door knob, he was unsure of what he was going to find on the other side of the door. Was it a robber? Was it the murderer back to finish the Cuthberts off? Or was it simply Rachel Lynde coming downstairs to get a glass of water? He needed to know. 

Quietly he pushed the door open and peered cautiously into the darkness of the Green Gable's kitchen. "Hello?" He whispered.

"Gilbert?" He recognized Anne's voice even before his eyes adjusted to the dark. At the sound of her voice, Gilbert relaxed, releasing the breath he had not even realized he had been holding. 

"Gosh Anne!" Gilbert almost laughed in relief. "I thought you were here to rob Green Gables." When Anne did not respond, Gilbert moved closer to her. 

"Anne, are you okay?" He asked hesitantly. Without responding, Anne sat down hard on the bottom step. Clad only in her nightgown, eyes wide and haunted, she looked so utterly lost. Mentally, Gilbert smacked himself -- of course she was not okay. Unsure of what else to do, Gilbert busied himself, lighting the oil lamps and resurrecting the banked fire. All the while, Anne sat silent and motionless, staring, for some reason, at the shoes in the corner of the kitchen. Gilbert then took a leaf out of Rachel's book and put the kettle on, determined to, at the very least, provide Anne with a cup of tea. 

"What am I supposed to do?" Anne's voice was just above a whisper. Gilbert was just placing the filled kettle upon the stove when she spoke. Slowly, he turned to look at her. Anne's face was now an open book, her grief, confusion, and fear laid bare for him to see. 

\-----------

"What am I supposed to do?" Anne repeated her question, louder this time. She wasn't really looking for an answer, and yet she needed one. She had been up since dawn. Her temples throbbed and her eyes still burned. She really needed to sleep.

Gilbert stared back at her, his eyes filled with an immeasurable sadness, his face drawn with exhaustion. "He has been up for as long as I have," Anne silently reminded herself. "And he has done far more." 

"I do not know, Anne." Gilbert's answer was a quiet apology. They sat there for a couple minutes, staring at each other across the vast expanse of Green Gable's scrubbed oak table.

"Perhaps," Gilbert finally ventured. "You should get some sleep."

Anne flinched, replying, "If I sleep, then I must wake up. And if I wake up and Matthew's room is still empty, I know I will not be able to bear it. I just won't." The last was spoken through loud, gasping sobs. It was as if those words had broken the dam that had been holding everything back -- her grief, her fear, her guilt, it was all free. It was the most that Anne had said since they had found Matthew. It was also the first time that Anne had cried. 

\----------

All at once, Gilbert was moving, quickly circumnavigating the table to pull Anne's shaking, thin body into his arms. He held her tightly to his body, scarcely believing that she had yet to shove him away. Instead, Anne pressed her face into his shoulder, quickly soaking his shirt with her tears. 

Finally, Anne looked up from his shoulder. "Had this been any other day, under any other circumstance, I would have been struck by the delicious, romantic tragedy of it all." She gave Gilbert a small, watery smile. "However, right now I would give anything for today to be an ordinary, dull, unromantic Wednesday." For what seemed like the thousandth time that day, Gilbert had no idea what to say. Yet, he felt his heart swell with unnamed emotions. He just wanted to hide Anne away from all of this pain. But he knew she would never allow it, not in a million years. 

His blue eyes met her reddened hazels ones. And then, all of a sudden, her lips were on his. There was a clumsiness in them that told him this was her first kiss. It was long and slow, her lips lingering on his. When they broke apart, their faces remained only millimeters apart. This close, Gilbert could see that Anne's eyes were in fact mostly green with only specks of brown. Tentatively, he pulled her to him for another kiss. She responded in kind, deepening the kiss, imbuing it with such raw need, such desperation, that he felt himself harden. He needed more of her. Gilbert found himself lifting Anne up onto that scrubbed oak table. His hands were on her back, her waist, her hips. Anne's hands roamed his shoulders and his back, her legs wrapped around him. As her soft thighs, still clad only in her flannel night gown, tightened around him, Gilbert found himself jolted back to reality. Reluctantly, he ended their kiss. 

"I will not ruin you," Gilbert croaked. "We cannot do this."

Anne colored. "Gilbert Blythe, how dare you!" Swiftly, she shoved him away, disentangling herself unceremoniously. "How dare you assume that." And then she was crying again, big, angry tears. 

"I didn't mean -- " he moved towards her again, hands up beseechingly.

"No!" Anne responded vehemently, turning on her heels and running back up the stairs. 

All Gilbert could do was watch helplessly as the redhead's thin frame disappeared into the shadows of the upstairs hall.


	5. Chapter 5

Up in the dark of the landing, Anne slowed, hand on her racing heart. Her other hand flew to her lips. They were swollen from Gilbert's passionate embrace. Heat rushed to her cheeks and abdomen at the thought of his lips on hers. Would she have let him ruin her? 

Angrily, she shook her head, trying to clear her mind of such thoughts. What would Marilla have thought is she had seen Anne with her legs wrapped around Gilbert Blythe? What would Matthew have thought? Anne's stomach dropped. Matthew. How could she have let herself get caught up in such trivial things? How had she allowed herself forget Matthew, even for a moment? An image of Matthew's broken body suddenly came to her. And then Anne was sobbing, just as she had been only minutes earlier in Gilbert's arms. She wanted to run to her room and hide away from the world. She wanted to curl up under her quilt and never come out again. 

Instead, Anne found herself moving not towards her own gable room, but towards the other end of the hallway. Towards Matthew's silent room. 

As she pushed against the closed door, she could feel a lump forming in her throat. Anne's breath quickened as she imagine what she would find in there. The cruelest imagining was of a sleeping Matthew, undisturbed in his room, as he should be. Steeling herself, Anne opened the door. Hesitantly, she took a step into the room. Unable to see much on this dark, moonless night, Anne almost tripped over a large, heavy object just beyond the room's threshold. Reaching down to investigate further, Anne realized it was a table that had been turned on its side. Beside it, Anne found shards of ceramic. Matthew's washing basin, perhaps? What had happened here?

\-----------

Gilbert sat at the oak table, head in his hands, mentally slapping himself. Why did he have to say that? Before he had much time to contemplate his ill-advised words however, Anne was running back down the stairs.

Blood rushed to his cheeks at the sight of the slightly disheveled red-head. "Anne! I --" Gilbert started, hopping up from the bench. 

Anne put up a finger, cutting him off. "Don't. I just need light." She picked up the lantern from the table and marched upstairs. A minute later, was back at the top of the stairs, the lantern illuminating the consternation on her face. 

"Gilbert! Please come here!" Her voice was strangled by an unnamed emotion, but her urgency was clear. 

Even from the bottom of the stairs, Gilbert could see the tears bright in Anne's eyes and the dampness of her cheeks. This had to be about Matthew. Gilbert quickly bounded up the stairs, following Anne's bobbing lantern. The lantern light abruptly disappeared as Anne turned into a room at the end of the hallway. Matthew's room? Gilbert wondered as he hastened to follow.

What Gilbert saw in the room forced him to stop short. The room had been destroyed. Paintings and photographs had been wrenched off the walls. The goose down mattress had been ripped open, filling the room with loose feathers. Books lay open on the floor, many with pages ripped out of them. Clothes were strewn around the room, having been unceremoniously thrown out of both the wardrobe and the dresser. The writing table and accompanying chair had both been overturned; the pool underneath both evidenced a broken ink well. 

Anne crouched down to better investigate the mess. "Gilbert, I think someone was looking for something in here." Anne said as she picked up a damaged book, turning it over in her hands.

Gilbert nodded in silent agreement before adding, "But what were they looking for?" 

"I have no idea." Breathed Anne. She had moved to the dresser, peering into the half-empty drawers. "Matthew's death wasn't an accident, was it?" Anne asked after a moment.

Surveying the destruction before him, Gilbert shook his head. "No, I cannot imagine that it was."


End file.
